Season for Silence
by AliquisAnonymum
Summary: Évelyne Léon takes in a Jewish family in Nazi occupied France, but her secret does not last. Soon, the dangerous and disarming Col. Hans Landa of the SS finds his way to her and a psychological game of cat and mouse ensues...
1. Run, Run, Run

**A/N: **_Buongiorno, everyone. Welcome to my first Inglourious Basterds fic. My knowledge of French and German are minimal, so if you see mistakes, please please tell me :) Feedback/critique is always welcome. _

_Also, this will not be a Landa/OC romance. As much as I love reading those, this won't be one. That doesn't mean things won't get kinda/sorta/oh-my-Lord steamy in time..._

_EDIT: As of March 1, 2011, I have re-uploaded chapters 1-3 with small edits. Enjoy!_

* * *

The Germans had found them. He did not know how, but the Germans had found them.

"Go… Go… Go!"

Four pairs of grimy feet hit the dirt in a blind frenzy. _Run, run, run…_ The suffocating cold whipped their faces, forming tears in their trembling eyes. _We have to keep going… We _must_ keep going…_

Panting. Whimpering. Crying.

"Mama?"

"Keep up, Eulie."

The little girl had no time to cry as she was dragged through the field by her mother. The high grass gave them some cover, so they crouched down as they ran. How beautiful this place was during the day. Below the sun, the grass glowed softly in golden waves in the wind. The smell of it was enough to ease a person into a dream.

How ugly and foreboding it was now.

Guy glanced back at his family, his wife and daughter, who formed a short, clumsy chain behind him. The trees were only a hundred meters off now. They would be safe there. It was so close...

"Lydie, faster. We're almost there," he whispered to his wife. Their legs carried them even faster across the cold, damp ground. The evening chill bit at their lungs each time they breathed. The ground was soft, making it hard to support their bare feet - they hadn't had enough time to grab their shoes. In an hour, the sun would rise, then they would be caught for sure. Mother Nature was working against them tonight, but the fear drove the small family faster and faster toward the shelter of the dark forest. There, the soldiers would not find them. There, _no one _would find them.

The forest… eighty meters…

The Bassets did not stop. They could not afford to stop. They needed to run. For the sake of their only child, they needed to escape. The soldiers were closing in on them. The father could feel the men circling them, but he only ran faster, pulling his wife by the wrist.

"Lydie, Eulie, keep up!" He hissed back at them, fear and resolve lining the grey corners around his eyes. His wife and child were tired, but they had to keep moving. "We are almost there!"

The forest… fifty meters…

They left a clear, flattened trail of grass behind them. Anyone could easily follow it to them, but once they reached the forest, that wouldn't matter. The small shed deep in the forest would protect them. They would be safe…

Guy could almost smell the old, familiar woods as he ran, his lungs and legs burning with a maddening flame. He could smell the freedom of the fathering trees and could almost feel the soft, damp bark against his palm. Even in his mad dash, he dreamt of the future, of a brighter day ahead. No longer would the world hate them. No longer would the Germans hunt them. They would finally be free.

Eulie stumbled and Guy lost his grip of Lydie's wrist. He nearly tripped over the grass as he turned to see them. Lydie quickly picked the little one up, who was too tired to run anymore. He ran over to her and lifted his little girl to his chest. Her light golden hair was so soft and her body was so warm against his. Guy could have stayed there, crouched in the grass, holding his precious daughter in his arms, like he had when had first held her 9 years ago. But the Germans were approaching, threatening to destroy everything they had. Guy clutched his daughter close to his chest. Without another word, he darted for the forest, his little jewel in his arms. "Sh, we are almost- "

A deafening shot shattered the night.

Lydie screamed.

The forest… thirteen meters…

* * *

The eastern sky spread an ashen glow over the quiet Norman farmlands, its dim light swiftly skimming across the tall, bronze grass. The trees lightly shook off their drowsiness and rustled quietly in the light wind, arousing the surrounding life gently and quietly. A sleepy herd of cows lowed lazily in the distance, unaware of the gruesome events of only a few minutes past. Five uniformed soldiers emerged from the shadows and walked into the field. The grass cried silently beneath their boots. Their guns drawn, they gathered in a loose circle near the edge of the forest. A sixth man came in slowly behind them, boots polished, uniform pressed, and an exhausted smile playing dangerously along his jaw as he casually hummed a children's song:

_1, 2,  
__Police.  
3, 4,  
Officer.  
__5, 6,  
Old Witch  
7, 8,  
Good night!  
9, 10,  
Captain–  
_

He stopped humming and came up behind the soldiers. The men kept their guns trained on the center.

"Move." The colonel waved the men aside and approached the singular mass in the center of the circle of Whermacht soldiers. The wounded man groaned. He had caught the bullet in his back, against the right shoulder blade and was now lying on his left side, twitching and writhing. But he made little noise. _Out of pride, perhaps,_ the colonel mused.

"The Jewish rat is still alive, ___Standartenführer_," said one of the soldiers. The colonel closed his eyes and smiled at the young man's childish perceptiveness.

"Danke, Private Borscht."

The colonel walked around to the man's head and knelt down in front of him.

"Bonjour, monsieur Guy Basset." He grinned and put both of his hands together, placing them comfortably on his knee. "I assure you that, had you cooperated with us earlier, you would not now find a bullet lodged into your back, which is not at all comfortable, I presume."

Guy looked up at the man, which sent a spark of pain up his right side. He clenched his eyes shut and bared down on his teeth. The colonel looked down at him, a professional smile plastered impossibly across his clean-shaven features. Guy opened his eyes again, long enough to meet the gaze of the German above him. There was a self-satisfied gleam in the older man's dark brown eyes, which gazed back at him unwaveringly. They shone brightly in the twilight as the dawn cast shadows across his angular face. Guy let his head fall to the ground. It hurt too much to hold it up for very long. He gritted his teeth and fought a loud cry as the colonel continued.

"Now, I promise you, monsieur Basset, that if you tell us where your wife and child have gone, we will spare your life – what little of it you have left, that is. Simply tell us where your family has retreated to and you shall be reunited with them."

Guy breathed heavily and unevenly through his nose, keeping his mouth and eyes tightly closed. The sight of the German uniforms made him sick. It angered him, but he could do nothing about it. The pain spread across his body, like a venomous disease in his veins. He thought of his wife, his strong, beautiful Lydie, and his daughter Eulie, so much like her mother in appearance and vigor. If only he could see them and hold them one more time and tell them he loved them, he could die completely happy, even surrounded by these uniformed German swine.

"_Allez en enfers."_

"I'm sorry," the colonel said smoothly, "could you repeat that, _s'il vous plaît_?"

Guy breathed in and spat on the colonel's shoes, groaning at the effort.

"_Allez en enfers!"_

The soldiers laughed. It wasn't the first time a Jew or French insubordinate had told them to go to hell. The colonel did not laugh and his smile faded as he looked down at the obstinate figure suffering in the grass before him.

"I see. Well," he stood up and straightened his dark, leather uniform jacket, "I understand perfectly your resentment of us, but I am sorry to tell you that, because of this, you will _never_ see your family again. Pity. I shall have to tell them '_au revoir_'for you, monsieur Basset, especially to your beautiful daughter… Eulalie."

In a surge of energy, Guy lunged toward the colonel with an animalistic cry, grabbing the edge of his jacket. A loud, resounding shot disturbed the surrounding peace. The colonel blinked. There was a short rustle of birds in the woods behind them as Guy's lifeless body slumped to the ground.

The colonel sighed with displeasure and pressed his lips together. These mindless military drones. The only tasks they were good for were marching in a straight line and pulling the trigger when told – or when not told, as in this case.

He gingerly slid the dead man from his boot and straightened his jacket, scowling. Two bloody hand prints were smeared in an erratic pattern down the front of his black trousers and on his once gleaming boots, surrounded by a rounded pattern of spattered blood. He frowned at the scarlet mess.

"Private Borscht, how am I to get information from a dead man, hm? Think before you pull that trigger again," he snapped. "Now clean this up. And get me a cloth." With a flick of his hand, the colonel stepped back and gestured to the dead body. His men quickly moved to the corpse and fired one cautionary shot into it before picking up the body and making their way back to the car.

As they quickly worked, the colonel put his black leather gloves back over his fingers, tiredly whistling the children's song again.

_One, two,  
__Police.  
__Three, four,  
Officer.  
__Five, Six,  
Old Witch  
Seven, Eight,  
Good night!  
Nine, Ten,  
Captain–_

The morning's events had reminded him of the song, which he had heard some time ago in a Parisian school yard. The children were jumping rope, leaping to the beat of the short tune. They weren't even old enough to know what they were singing. Its innocent morbidity had made him chuckle. With a solemn readjustment of his hat, he continued to whistle quietly as he made his way back to the car, sliding his gloves over his hands:

_Eleven, Twelve,  
The Wolves howl,  
Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen,  
Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty,  
The Frenchman moved to Gdansk. _

The colonel closed his eyes and relished the damp morning air in his lungs, as his little song finally came to its end:

_Gdansk began to burn,  
The French began to run;  
Without a sock and without shoes  
They ran to France  
__They ran to France_


	2. The Countryside

The house was large and frightfully empty. Dust and cobwebs flitted in and out of the beams of light from the windows. No one had occupied it in the past two years – not since the start of the war. The front door closed with a click behind Évelyne as she set her bags on the ground. The last time she had been in this house was when Father had sent her away to distance her from her sick mother. It had been certain then that her mother would die. Father had not wanted the same happening to Évelyne.

As she ascended the stairs, the old steps protested under her weight and wheezed soft belches of dust. The upstairs was slightly different from how she remembered it. She knew that other family members had used these rooms since she had last visited, but the furniture somehow seemed disturbed. It was a peculiar feeling, but she couldn't quite place it as she made her quick tour of the worn down house.

There were four sizable bedrooms, all so coldly empty. It was too much room just for herself and Luc, her "chaperone." Regardless of the fact that she was 25 years old, Father still thought she needed a caretaker – even one that was younger than she was. However, she loved her father and would do anything for him. And Luc's company was always welcome. He was average in height, but very slim with an almost girlish figure. His blonde hair reminded her of her own hair in her childhood. It had darkened considerably in the sun over the years, something Luc occasionally teased her about. His jokes had ceased to bother her. She even encouraged it and never failed to reply with an equally childish remark. They had known each other since he was 7 and she was 10.

As she looked from room to room, she thought of her sister. She wished her father would have allowed Nadine to come, but he had felt that she was best left in the hands of her aunt and uncle just outside of Paris. It was agreed upon that, although it was not safe for Nadine to be in the middle of Paris, she should still remain relatively close. The separation had been hard on both of them, but they had saved their tears for another time. Évelyne missed her little sister.

After quickly scanning the other rooms, she quickly made her way back downstairs. Luc came in carrying a wary, purring Taquin in one arm and a load of luggage in his other hand. He gingerly handed the cat to her.

"Where to?"

"The room at the end of the hall, please, Luc."

"Your old room, eh? Yes, madame." She smiled at his playful sarcasm as he carried the bags up the stairs. She could hear the dull clunking of his boots as she put Taquin down and, glancing at the study to the left of the stairs, made her way into the kitchen. The house was unkempt and ridiculously dusty. She and Luc had a lot of work to do. Cleaning, rearranging, beautifying. It needed more of a woman's touch.

The large window above the kitchen basin provided a lovely view of the west. The golden sun was beginning to set. The breeze was dying down as well. It was getting late now. With a yawning stretch, Évelyne pushed back her wavy brown hair and gladly took in the serenity of her surroundings, a luxury she hadn't enjoyed in a long time. A field of tall, sun scorched grass separated the lonely house from the lush, breezy trees close by. When she was a little girl, she had loved playing in the forest and had gotten lost in it once – only once. Her family had finally found her after a few hours, huddled against a tree crying with skinny limbs quivering around her small body. She had not stepped foot in the forest since.

"Évelyne," Luc knocked on the inner kitchen wall, "Your bags are in your room."

She nodded in thanks and walked away from the window. She sighed. "I miss Paris already. I miss Papa and Nadine and the house..." Her voice trailed off into her memories as she looked sadly back at their Paris home. Yesterday, when she had finished packing all her things, she had made her rounds through the house, taking in as much of it as she could remember. How long before she would be able to return? Would she ever see it again?

"But you know it's better for you to be out here." Luc leaned against the counter. "It can be a little too dangerous for you –"

"I know, Luc. I know." The sharp image of the German soldiers marching through the streets of Paris made her shudder. There was something sinister about a soldier, even a French soldier. After they put on the suit, they were no longer like everyone else. It was a form of disciplined de-evolution. Évelyne was disgusted by it. Father had become uneasy about it, resulting in her deportation into the quiet countryside.

Luc lightly pushed himself from the counter, then cleared his throat as he took a quick glance around the kitchen. "Well, it seems we have some work to do. Why don't we start the clean-up tomorrow? First thing in the morning. Unless, of course, you're not up to it?" He gave her that impish grin that annoyed and amused her at the same time.

"I assure you I'll be up before you."

He chuckled and then left her alone in the kitchen.

She smiled as his heavy footsteps receded and she gave a quick look around the kitchen again. Mother used to be the finest cook in Paris. She could turn simplest of ingredients into the most succulent dishes ever to delight the tongue. As Évelyne stood in the kitchen, she could almost hear the gurgling pots and sizzling pans accompanied by the enticing aromas that spoke longingly to the senses. But there was nothing now – only empty dishes layered with dust and time. This house would be neglected no more. Évelyne bitterly wiped away a tear before exiting the silent kitchen. There was no room for weakness in a time of war.

Summer in the Norman countryside was like nothing else in France. When Évelyne rose out of bed, the sun was just rising above the verdant hills in the east. She shivered with the morning chill. There was so much to do today. She stretched her arms and gave Taquin a few strokes on his sleek, black back before looking over at the bags in the corner, still unpacked. She did not want to unpack everything, only to have to repack in a couple of days. There was no telling how long she'd be here – one week, one month, one year? These were uncertain times.

Groggily changing into a light sundress, she made her way downstairs to the kitchen with Taquin following closely behind. The house had a damp atmosphere that prickled her skin. Something needed to be done to this place. She needed a broom, first of all. As she opened the closet door, a small slip of paper floated down like a feather to the ground. She picked it up and smiled:

_Went to town for supplies. Be back this evening._

_Luc_

_P.S. I was up before you. _

So she was alone – all alone – in this large, empty fortress without Luc's jocular remarks to keep her company. But she didn't want to start cleaning yet. And she wasn't hungry, either. Taquin meowed. Well, _he_ was hungry. Évelyne smiled and looked through the creaking cupboards and found the cat's specially prepared food. The spoiled cat ate better than most people in the world. She opened the container and set it on the ground. A second later, the eager cat was lapping up the feline delicacy.

"Well, I have you to keep me company, too, hm?" The cat ignored her and continued eating. She sighed.

Now, what to do? Her trailing gaze found the vast kitchen window or rather, the view beyond it. The early morning illuminated the forest and the surrounding field with a soft, yellow glow. The house suddenly felt stifling. She needed to get out.

"Taquin," she beckoned. The cat looked up at her with his fluid green eyes. She clicked her tongue at him and opened the door. He sped out and immediately lost himself in the tall, damp grass. The most pleasant thing about the summer was the morning air just before the suffocating heat of the afternoon. The atmosphere had a fragrant lightness about it that tasted sweet in her lungs. It was a relieving feeling after having breathed in the scent of city life for the past 25 years. Of course, the city was exciting and her life was luxurious thanks to her father. But then again, it had lacked the family connection. Mother had been sick on and off for years. Father was constantly preoccupied with the dealings of his Cour de Cassation – Justice Grégoire Léon was too busy for family, but she knew he loved her and she knew he had loved Eugénie, her mother. He still loved her. Évelyne could still see the sorrow in his demeanor whenever he was reminded of her.

Évelyne grazed the wet grass with her fingertips and looked into the forest. It was so quiet, so still. There was only the furtive rustle of leaves and a small animal here and there going about its business. The nightmares of the dark forest had faded away in her teenage years, but she had never fully shaken off the foreboding feeling from when she had gotten lost many years ago. It made her uneasy even now as she stood at the edge of the forest 15 years later. However, she felt drawn to it in dark, almost seductive way. She didn't quite understand it. Taquin scuffled with a piece of bark nearby. She looked over at him.

"Taquin, why are we out here?" The black cat continued to roll happily in the grass with his makeshift toy. Évelyne lowered herself to the ground and began poking him playfully with a long blade of grass. "It's this ridiculous war. The damn Germans…" He pawed at the grass and began nibbling on it. "I wish life would go back to normal, don't you, Taquin?" He backed up, then lowered his head and shoulders in a pouncing position. He leapt forward and yanked the grass out of her hand with his teeth and began eagerly gnawing on it. "But what do you know, cat? You have no care in the world– "

A flash of yellow. Brown? Évelyne stood up and remained still. Something had moved. The bushes shook slightly and then stopped just as quickly. Évelyne gasped. Something was watching her – and it wasn't a mere animal. The sudden forced quietness made her thrumming heartbeat all the more evident and she darted across the grass back to the house. She quickly shut the door behind her and stayed with her back against it and her hand on the knob for what seemed like hours. In the quietude of the house, she could still hear the hard rhythm of heart deep in her chest. After a few seconds, she slowly eased herself away from the door. Her lips had stopped trembling. Her breathing was beginning to return to normal.

In the brush, shaded by the trees, had been a pair of blue, fearful eyes.

When Luc came back later that evening, Évelyne said nothing about her brief "encounter" near the woods. However, the following afternoon, Luc reported that the axe was missing. He had used it earlier and had left it against the pile of wood. The next day, Évelyne could not find the pot they had used for dinner.

And that was not the last of it.

By the end of the month, they were also missing a knife, a bucket, rope, a shovel, two towels, and various food items. After a while, Évelyne wondered what else was missing. Had the thief been stealing from this house even before she and Luc had arrived? Maybe that's where the strange feeling had come from when she had scanned the rooms her first day here. How much had they taken? There was no way for her to know. The closest neighbors lived approximately 2 km away and the terrain was flat around most of the area. The only place a thief – or thieves – could hide was the forest – and it was a large forest. If a person wanted to hide among those trees, it's possible they could evade capture forever. After the shovel had disappeared, Luc went into the woods with a crowbar and came back an hour later with no luck. It was only after Luc came home with and implemented padlocks that the looting stopped.

For the next week, it was quiet.

Luc leaned back in his seat and put his hands behind his head.

"Évelyne, you've outdone yourself. I haven't tasted anything like that since before the war."

Évelyne smiled over at him and picked up both of their plates. "Oh, be quiet. You're the greatest liar in all of France."

She heard him chuckle as she entered the kitchen and placed the dishes in the sink. Cooking had been her favorite pastime since childhood when she would help her mother in the kitchen almost daily. Surrounded by her mother's expertise, it was only natural that Évelyne inherited the skill. However, the combination of the cooking and the summer heat had made the kitchen unbearably hot. There was an American expression she had read in a book some time ago: "If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen." The Americans and their animated sayings. She opened the back door, letting in a lazy breeze. She stayed there for a moment before turning back to the kitchen.

Wha-

Évelyne swung back around. The last rays of the sun provided a scant amount of light across the field, but it was the kitchen light that illuminated the immediate back of the house. Something – some_one_ had darted behind the house. Évelyne's heart skipped a beat, then resumed its heavy thudding. The thieves…

"Hey," she called out, looking right, then left. Nothing moved. She stepped out of the doorway and into the high grass. Everything was still. A block of wood fell, followed by another. Évelyne jumped then ran to the spot.

"Stop!" One distinct figure darted from behind the wood pile in a mad dash toward the forest. "Hey! Stop!" Évelyne quickly pursued the figure, but she was too late. The shadow had vanished into the shrouded leaves and branches as if they had disappeared into a magical portal. For a moment, she glared intensely at the spot through which the thief had gone. She was sure he was still there.

"You had better run! Steal another thing and I'll have your body hung from these trees!" Where the grisliness and forcefulness of her threats came from, Évelyne did not know. The only thing she knew now was her anger and frustration. She was tired of these foolish games of hide and seek. Times were desperate, but this had gone on long enough. The small spurt of adrenaline was already beginning to fade and exhaustion was starting to take its place. Tired and frustrated, Évelyne turned around and made her way back to the house. Upon reaching the wood pile, she went to pick up the fallen pieces.

A dull outline of color caught her eye.

She quickly put the pieces back on the top of the pile, then reached down and picked up the thin, dirty ribbon. At one point, she imagined it had been a brilliant red. Now, it was faded to an almost pink color and was covered in dirt. The edges were frizzled and coming undone and it had a small split along one end. She looked back at the forest, now merely a black silhouette against the navy blue sky. The thief was not a _he._

It was a _she. _


	3. The Dusty Road

"I love it when the sky looks like an oil painting."

Évelyne drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms loosely around her legs. The grass tickled her ankles as she sat looking up at the sky with restful wonderment. Her thoughts wandered lazily and aimlessly, flitting noncommittally from memories of Paris to the smells of the marketplace yesterday to the faded red ribbon on her nightstand. The snippets of sights and sounds and smells felt so free out here beneath the open sky. This fresh serenity was something she would miss when she returned to the city.

Luc picked lazily at the brittle grass as he lay on the ground, one hand behind his head. He looked up at the sky.

"An 'oil painting?'" He squinted at the brightness. "The countryside is turning you into a poet."

Évelyne laughed, only briefly looking at him with a smile before returning her attention to the open, cerulean sky.

"So soft, so smooth. It's like someone spreading warm butter on bread. What art."

Luc was silent for a moment, suddenly interested in the stem of one particular blade of grass. He sighed.

"And who is that someone? God?"

Évelyne looked over at him. What a strange question. In the past week, she had noticed a troubling change in Luc. His demeanor had grown more serious, impossibly aging his appearance a few years. The lax jaw had hardened into a stiff line across his chin and his brows seemed to come together far too often these days. It was something she had rarely seen in him before. He looked – for once in his life – pensive.

"God? I suppose so. He can be quite an artist sometimes."

Luc's mouth twitched and he pushed himself up, brushing strands of grass from his pants as he stood.

"Luc, what's wrong?" The advantage of knowing a person for virtually their entire life was recognizing their moods. Évelyne had only seen him like this a handful of times, including the period following the death of her mother, as well as their childhood accident along the Seine…

Luc simply stuck his hands into his pockets. He avoided her gaze.

His sentence started with a sigh, a bad sign. "Times are bad, Évelyne. Times are hard."

Évelyne was confused. "Of course times are hard, Luc. There's – there's a war." Her voice trailed off, waiting for him to elaborate, to finally speak his mind. They seldom hid secrets from each other. It was almost a policy between them. The fact that he was going against this policy troubled her. What was he hiding? "What's wrong?"

He quickly looked down at her and kneeled so that he was once again eye level. A hard, nervous hand ran through his blonde mess of hair. The hesitance around the beryl blue wells of his eyes made her frown. "Nothing's 'wrong.'" That was a lie. His most obvious tell was the constant erratic motion of his fingers, which he tried to hide against his thigh. It never failed to give him away when he was nervous – or lying.

And he knew it.

"All right, all right, it's no use anymore." He sat himself down again in the dead, flattened grass and did not resume eye contact. "The other day you commented on how uneasy the people in town seemed. Like you said, there's a war going on." He opened his mouth, then stopped, and then opened his mouth again. "Do you know why the Germans are here?"

Évelyne was still confused and answered hesitantly: "Power. They want power."

Luc shook his head. "Do you know why they are _here_?"

"I – Luc, what are you talking about? You heard about something, didn't you? Tell me. Please."

Luc picked up a twig, but he seemed unconscious of any of his own actions at the moment. "While in town, I received a letter from Monsieur— your father. The situation—"

She shot up.

"What? A letter from Papa? Why didn't you—"

"Wait! Please, let me finish."

Évelyne was not only further confused – she was afraid. He wasn't giving her any answers. What was wrong with Father? They'd only been here two weeks. What could have possibly happened? She was a little confused. She was a little scared. And she was beginning to get very frustrated.

"He says the situation is getting more oppressive in Paris with the Nazi pigs – of course, he didn't exactly call them that – with the Nazi pigs strutting through the streets. But that wasn't the reason for his letter."

What infuriated her most was that he wasn't telling her anything useful. He was skipping around the point. Each moment he didn't give her an answer, each moment he stalled in that cowardly way of his, Évelyne felt her heart pump a little harder, her pulse thrum a little louder. The leaden anxiety at the base of her stomach was making her sick with worry and fear. At this moment, she felt a sudden, fleeting hate for Luc. She hated him for being so indirect. She hated him for being so afraid. She hated him for making _her_ afraid.

_Tell me already, _couard_. Spit it out! _

Luc kept his eyes fixated on a patch of ground near his feet. When he finally spoke, his voice was cracked and quiet. "You remember the family that lived only a kilometer or two down the road?"

She searched her memory - the Bassets. She had only met them twice during her previous visits to the countryside. From what she remembered, they were amiable people, hardworking, generous and above all pious. News traveled quickly in Le Havre. And even though Évelyne and Luc had only been here a short time, it was difficult not to hear the tragic and nerve-wrackiing news. The Moreaus, the Fourniers, and then the Bassets – gone in the middle of the night. To think, the last family disappeared only two days before the two of them had arrived in the country house. By now, it was no secret what was happening to the families – or what had already inevitably happened to them. Most people knew, but many still denied it.

Évelyne nodded. "Yes. They were good people. Nice people. Why do you ask?"

"They escaped."

"What?"

Escaped? From the soldiers? No matter how repulsed she was by the German soldiers, Évelyne knew they were ruthless and dangerously efficient. But what was she hearing? The Bassets had escaped. The Germans had slipped. This news excited her. Even though she had never really known the family, the fact that they had evaded capture was exhilarating. She was about to ask why she hadn't heard this before, but stopped herself. Of course she hadn't heard about it before. Le Havre was a gossiping town, but more importantly it was faithful and loyal. The townspeople would never give away the Bassets' secret.

"Where did they go?" She asked interestedly. "They must be half way out of France by now. It's been over two weeks."

"But only Madame Basset and the daughter made it." Luc paused, a moment of sadness crossing his features. "And I heard from Albert Braud that they are still here." His voice had gone down so low, Évelyne barely caught his words.

"Monsieur Braud? How does he know? They couldn't still be here. It's too dangerous. Wait – but what does this have to do with Papa's letter?"

Luc swayed a little, not looking at her, and let out a breath. "Germans have been questioning people in town. Your father sent the letter to warn us about the increasing number of troops being sent to Le Havre. Yesterday, when I spoke with Albert, he said his house was searched just three days ago for Jews." Luc scoffed. "They found nothing."

Évelyne hesitated before asking, "Are the Brauds hiding Jews?" She had lowered her voice even though they were completely alone.

Luc turned his head toward her. She couldn't fully read his expression, which had become hard and steely. Finally, he shook his head.

"No. No, he wasn't hiding Jews." He cleared his throat and picked up a rock, absently rolling it between his fingers. "You know your father; he's been paying careful attention to any news from here in Le Havre. He says we'll see soldiers any day now."

She imagined filthy German soldiers tramping through the house, tearing up the floor, ripping down the curtains like clumsy children playing a senseless, raucous game. "German lowlifes going through Papa's house? _Our_ house? Then what are we doing here? It defeats the purpose of us being here. If it's no safer in Le Havre than it is in Paris, we might as well go home. At least I won't have to worry about Papa. Those German lowlifes," she muttered. Her lip curled upward in disgust and she turned toward the lonely country house.

"It's just protocol.

Luc rose again, slowly this time, as if his arms were weighted down by iron chains. He extended a steady hand down toward Évelyne. She took it gently and pulled herself up.

"We have to keep our heads up, Ev."

_Ev. _There were very few times when he had the gall to call her "Ev." Most days, she hated the childhood nickname; it made her feel small and innocently helpless. At this moment, however, she held onto it for comfort.

Luc raised his head and dropped her hand. She followed his gaze. The road that led into Le Havre followed the subtle curves of the surrounding fields and occasionally disappeared under the cover of shading trees. As she scanned the dusty road, her breathing slowed to a near stop.

"_Câlique__!_" he breathed. "There's no other reason why they'd come this way. Do you see it?"

Évelyne nodded. With a deep breath, she pulled her shoulders back and walked toward the house with Luc following closely behind.

Head held high, she crossed into the kitchen and walked across the foyer, turning left into the salon with restrained, deliberate steps. She stopped at the window, parted the thin cream curtain and watched as the charcoal colored car approached them from the road with two dusky motorcycles followed directly behind. With a listless glance in her direction, Luc opened the door and stepped outside.

The rumble of engines gradually increased, then suddenly died down as the small convoy stopped in front of the house. Three soldiers total, plus one driver. Two uniforms dismounted their motorcycles and stood at attention as the driver opened the door, letting the final uniform out onto the once pure, French soil. This one spoke to the others, his orders muffled from behind the window, and at last he stepped ahead of them. He extended his hand to Luc.

"Is this the home of the Léons?"

"Oui."

Évelyne's breathed hitched as the German replied:

"_Je suis S.S. Colonel Hans Landa_. May we speak within the comfort of your home?"


	4. At Your Service

**A/N: **_Hi, y'all! I deeply, fullheartedly, profusely apologize for being so late in updating. A combination of NaNoWriMo in November and college applications these past few months just sucked me away from writing out my fic. But that's over for the most part now. All that's left are the scholarship apps. *sigh* Finals are this week, but I will almost without a doubt end up working on the next chapter in between studying and other assignments I have no desire in doing. So without further delay, here's chapter 4! Hope you like it!_

_Also, as of March 1, 2011, I have re-uploaded chapters 1-3 with small changes. Nothing major, just a few tweeks here and there. _

* * *

Évelyne released the curtain and stepped back from the window, letting out a breath that she hadn't even realized she'd been holding. What did they want with her and Luc? The Léons had never done anything wrong. Her father was a court justice for God's sake. The reason why Father had sent her out here in the first place was to avoid this entire mess that was the war. But now here it was, right on her doorstep, clad in black like slick death. She didn't need to ask why they were here. It was more than clear now why Luc had been so cryptic. Five minutes ago, he had said the Germans would be arriving any day.

Why hadn't he told her about this sooner? She could have been more prepared. There wasn't much to do in the way of readying the house, but at least she could have mentally composed herself. Seeing those sharply uniformed men in front of the house made her stomach tighten into a desperate knot. Surprisingly though, her breathing was already returning to normal. The initial shock had worn off – had it even arrived? No, she wouldn't let it overwhelm her yet – at least not until those damned soldiers were gone.

"This way, Colonel." Luc's voice was just outside the doorway. Évelyne turned toward the entrance and stepped sideways until her hip met the edge of the sofa. Her hand steadied her body against the cold, mahogany frame as she stared at the entrance. There was nothing to be afraid of. Évelyne and Luc had done nothing wrong. They had nothing to hide, but the presence of these German devils was making her feel guiltier than she should feel – and over nothing. That was the worst of it. If there was something worth hiding, Évelyne would feel justified in being this anxious, but there was nothing – nothing at all.

Luc's words pulled at the back of her mind: _"It's just protocol… We have to keep our heads up."_

They failed to calm her.

"Thank you, monsieur Adelard." When had Luc told the German his name? She must have missed it. That was how frayed her mind was; she couldn't even pay attention properly.

Évelyne stayed where she was, her bloodless fingers digging into the sofa's soft arm as Luc led the colonel into the living room. Although she had heard of this "S.S. Colonel Hans Landa" and was aware of his relentless success, she had never seen him before. Now, he stood in her family's living room – her _father's_ living room – finally putting a face to the notorious name.

To Évelyne's discomfort – and disappointment – he was less austere than she had imagined. Perhaps she was far too childlike, but she had imagined a tall, thin, steely, middle-aged man with harsh, ugly features on a rectangular head. Well, the man _was_ middle-aged, but the term had feeble connotations. Col. Landa looked far from feeble. He was about the same height as Luc, but his posture was unforgiving. This, coupled with the sleek, grossly black leather trench coat, seemed to create the illusion that he was, in fact, taller than Luc. He held his S.S.-marked hat at his side. His face was far softer than she had pictured in her head, with a smooth and – dare she admit it – almost warm look. Almost. It was his eyes that caught her attention most. Those eyes, with false crinkles sidled along the corners, were the most unnerving features on his face. Évelyne tightened her jaw and very slowly pulled her fingers away from the victimized arm.

He smiled at her. She straightened herself and thoughtlessly smoothed her dress down. The smile did not fade from his lips as he watched her for a moment longer than was necessary. She wanted to scrape that filthy, German grin from his face, but contented herself with only nodding at him.

As he approached her, gliding like a snake across the living room, Évelyne swallowed and raised her head in trepidation. She was tempted to step back as a reflex, but stood her ground as the colonel took up her hand in his cold glove and raised it to his lips.

"Colonel Hans Landa of the S.S. at your service, mademoiselle Léon."

A string of nettles shot through her arm and settled in her chest as she resisted pulling her hand away. It was disgusting, being greeted like this by one of _them._ How dare he? French seemed to flow easily on his tongue, which annoyed her. Her language suddenly sounded ugly from the German's mouth. And the way his eyes fixated themselves on her, looking up at her as if he had the right to. This was her father's house. This was a _French_ house. These men, especially _this_ man, needed to leave. Now.

To her relief, his hand finally released hers, but his gaze maintained its intensity: equal parts silent and powerful. Évelyne held his gaze, not even hiding the frown lining her jaw.

"Mademoiselle Léon-" She started at the sound of her surname. She hadn't noticed it when he had said it previously. It hadn't really sunk in until the second time. How had he known who she was? Was it just an assumption or had he already looked into her? It was unsettling. How much did he know about her? How much did he know about the rest of the family – even Luc?

"Thank you for welcoming me into your home." Évelyne raised a brow. She had done nothing of the kind. If anything, she wanted him gone along with the rest of his German rats. At the very least, she wished he was still standing on the other side of the room. His presence was nauseating. Fortunately, he finally decided to step back so that he could also address Luc, who had moved defensively closer to her with a steady look on his face. Évelyne gave him a darting glance before looking at the colonel again.

"17 days ago, during a military procedure conducted through this area, one family went unaccounted for. Under the orders of the Third Reich, I am obliged to disturb your lovely afternoon and have my men search your home. Once we are certain your house is clear, we shall leave as we came and our paths shall never meet again." During these final words, he glanced at Évelyne with a widened grin. She was not sure what that was supposed to mean nor did she feel that she truly wanted to know. The sooner he was gone, the sooner she could feel at ease again.

Col. Landa turned leisurely to the window and made a short, quick gesture to the two armed men outside. They nodded and swiftly made their way through the front door. Évelyne looked at them with unhidden disgust. They didn't seem to notice her.

A brief command in German – such an ugly language – and the soldiers split. One went up the stairs as the other made his way to her father's study. Évelyne made to go after them, but was stopped by Luc's cautionary glance. He was right. Just stay put and wait. And wait. And wait. Her blood boiled at the sight of the German uniform rummaging through her father's desk, opening and closing the drawers carelessly. Évelyne mentally scoffed. _No fugitives hiding there, you idiot._

Turning back toward Luc and Évelyne, the German colonel gestured to the living room chairs around the coffee table. "Now, may we make ourselves comfortable? I have only a few questions to ask and then our business will be done."

Luc nodded solemnly before taking a seat on the sofa. Évelyne looked at the colonel cautiously for a moment, seeing the commanding look in his eyes. In those hard-as-bark irises, she saw that she really had no other choice, so she sat at the other end of the sofa. The colonel seemed to immediately make himself comfortable, setting down his black leather case and leaning into the back of the chair – his posture was still impeccable – with his legs crossed. The leather groaned beneath him as he sat and he set his hat respectfully on the table beside him. Even though Luc was only a few feet from her, she felt isolated. With a brief attempt at a reassuring glance, Luc returned his attention to the colonel.

"Now," he slipped off his gloves and placed one hand on his thigh and the other one on the arm of the chair. "Do you know the family in question?"

"The Bassets, _oui_?" Luc spoke confidently and nonchalantly.

"Very good. What can you tell me about them?" He leaned over the side and retrieved a packet of papers and a folder along with a gleaming fountain pen. He unscrewed the cap of the pen with the care of an artist and smoothed the paper down on his lap. Évelyne watched, as if in a half-trance. Her eyes rose back to meet his when he finally settled himself.

"Well, there were –" Luc glanced at Évelyne in thought, "—three people, if I remember correctly. I- I don't remember their names."

There was a scatter of thuds upstairs. Évelyne glanced nervously upward and scrunched a section of her dress in her hands.

"So you do not usually live here, am I correct?"

"Oui. We only recently arrived."

Col. Landa nodded and made a few marks on his paper. Évelyne found herself sitting very still, struggling to regulate her breathing. The anxiety was building up within her again, but she fought it back. _Not now. It will be over soon. Then I can breathe normally._

"In need of the country air, no doubt. It is quite refreshing, is it not? Although I miss my Austrian Alps, I must say that the French cow country isn't so terrible, especially in the summer." She didn't trust the casual vowels and languid air in his voice. It was like watching a seasoned actor on stage, except the motions and gestures were much subtler and far more dangerous.

Luc smiled tightly and nodded. "It is nice. I wouldn't mind spending the rest of my life out here." Leave it to Luc to be able to pretend to be at ease. He was good at these things – but not around her, not when it mattered anyway. When he had been talking to her just outside, he had been nervous and uneasy. But now, in front of this German official, Luc was easing back into his usual self.

She and Luc watched as a soldier clambered down the stairs. The other exited the study. They then headed toward the kitchen.

Luc continued, "We're out here for the fresh air, as you said. Give us time to relax and enjoy ourselves and appreciate the wide open space around us. Évelyne," Luc turned toward her, "could you please boil water on the stove and make some tea for the colonel?"

Évelyne was confused by Luc's sudden change in behavior. He was talking to her as if he were above her. They were equals. It had been that way since childhood. What had gotten over him? The order, however politely said, angered her even more, but she wasn't willing to make a scene in front of the German.

She nodded stiffly and rose, not looking at the colonel as she made her way into the kitchen. One of the soldiers was still there, making a last scan around the room. He looked up at her, acknowledged that she wasn't a threat, and then made his way into the dining room. Évelyne poured the water from a pitcher into a copper kettle. She opened a drawer and pulled out a match, lighting the old stove. The small flame flickered once as she breathed on it. She could feel the heat as she placed the kettle over the fire. A rude clang made her turn around against the kitchen counter.

The soldier shuffled around the dining room, trudging around in his dirty boots, opening and closing doors. She almost laughed when he opened a low cupboard in the back of the dining room. No full-sized person could fit in there, but she stayed silent. It was a relief to want to laugh. It skimmed some of the stress off the top of her mind. When the soldier left the dining room and went outside, Évelyne exhaled freely. It was good to be left alone.

In a fleeting moment, Évelyne understood why Luc had sent her to boil water. He was just as uncomfortable as she was, but he was braver than her. Out of a sibling-like stubbornness, she would never admit that he was braver than she was. He was like her big brother, sending her away for her own comfort and protection. It annoyed her slighty. She was a grown woman, who could take care of herself. However, there was no denying that it was a sweet gesture. She tried to listen to the conversation between Luc and the colonel, but she could only hear soft consonants and vowels above the gurgling water.

The kettle hissed. How long had she been standing there, white palms pressed against the countertop? She moved the kettle and blew out the stove. She got out two cups and mechanically made the tea. A wicked idea popped into her head. It would be so easy to slip something into the colonel's mug, something that would make him disappear forever. But she quickly shook that out of her head. It was foolishness. That's all that was.

When she made her way back to the living room, Luc was speaking.

"— Like I said, this place is large and beautiful. The back country of Le Havre is a perfect place for a retreat."

Évelyne handed a cup to Luc, who smiled warmly. She begrudgingly handed the other to the German. "_Merci beaucoup, mademoiselle Léon._" She nodded coldly and sat back down, leaning against the plush back of the sofa.

"Interesting word choice, monsieur Adelard. 'Retreat' makes it sound like you are running from something. What are you running from?"

"We are not running from anything."

The colonel only nodded and took a drink from his cup before shifting the conversation back again. Évelyne could hear the cupboards opening and closing, followed by chairs scratching against the hardwood floor. "The Bassets ran. You understand that, _non_?"

"_Oui._"

"Of course, it's not difficult to understand. Do you know why I am here today?"

"You are looking for a family."

Col. Landa smiled. It was like an adult's smile directed at a naïve little child. "Yes, but do you know why we are looking for this family?"

Luc hesitated a moment.

"Because they are Jewish."

The two men stared at Évelyne, one with alarm, the other with amusement. She had to say it. She had to say _something_ or else she would have burst with anxiety and irritation. The words simply came out. She could have outright insulted the colonel in his face and it would have sounded less accusatory than her answer to his question. A small dread wormed into her stomach.

The colonel made to speak, but the sound of heavy boots in the hall averted his attention.

"_Standartenfurhrer._" All eyes turned toward the soldier standing at the edge of the living room, lifting some of the pressure from Évelyne's chest. He spoke quickly, nodding his head once in the direction of the kitchen. The harsh strangeness of the language angered and confused Évelyne all at once. However, the colonel's syrupy French still angered her more. The colonel responded and turned toward Luc. The soldier stayed where he was.

"I'm sorry to have to interrupt our conversation, but I understand that you have a cellar? Well, we need you to unlock the door, _s'il vous plaît._" Luc nodded and rose from the couch, putting his barely touched tea on the table. Évelyne started to get up as well, but a noise from the colonel made her stop.

"If you will please stay, mademoiselle Léon. I still have questions to ask." He smiled over at her before making a commanding gesture to the soldier. She exchanged a glance of apprehension with Luc as he reluctantly left the room.

_Don't leave me. Not with _him.

But Luc had to leave and in the next moment, she was left to deal with the man alone. She was a grown woman. She could handle anything. It was not a very convincing mantra. The colonel breathed out easily with that unnerving grin and casually brushed at one of his many medals on the front of his uniform, awarded for loyalty and bravery to Germany – for a despicable cause and ideal.

"Where were we – ah yes. So it is clear you understand why I am sitting in your living room at this very moment." He breathed in with a smile and rested his hand holding the pen down on his papers. "This isn't what your father wanted for you, is it?"

There was no way she could have hidden her surprise. His knowledge was so abrupt and unexpected that Évelyne had not prepared for it. So he _had_ looked into her and her family already. Again, she had to wonder – how much did he already know?

The colonel chuckled to himself. "There's no need for alarm, mademoiselle, it is my business to know these things – people, specifically. It is part of my duty to familiarize myself with the more significant individuals in society, such as Justice Grégoire Léon and his two daughters – _mademoiselle Nadine et Évelyne._"

All breath in her lungs ceased to flow for two seconds as Évelyne fought to restrain herself. She wanted to stand and berate the colonel – but for what? It was personal. He had an indeterminate amount of knowledge about her family. It was perverse. She felt violated somehow. It was unnatural for someone – a stranger, no less – to know so much about her already. Évelyne was on the defensive.

"I thought you wanted to know about the Bassets. But since you seem to know so much about my family and me, you probably already know all that you need to know."

He breathed in and out slowly. "Not quite. You see, I am only human and being human, I only have limited means available to me. I learn what I can, but I need people like you to fill in the gaps for me. The Bassets were your closest neighbors in this area for the past three generations, even before you were born. You don't expect me to believe that you know nothing of the Bassets."

"Whether or not you like it, I don't know anything. I haven't been here in years – not since I was a child." Her focus was interrupted by a soft mewl under the table. A black head appeared, the green eyes showing that he was ignorant of Évelyne's discomfort. The colonel made soft clicking sounds with his tongue. The cat eagerly approached him and sniffed his outstretched fingers before pushing his head into the colonel's knuckles. Évelyne grit her teeth as she glared at the cat. _Traitor._

"So I can't help you."

The colonel looked up at her with an amused glint in his eye, all the while rubbing the non-partisan cat's pleased back.

"We shall see, won't we, mademoiselle Léon?" To Taquin's dismay, the colonel stopped petting him and instead picked up his mug, finishing its contents. Évelyne's eyes were slow to connect with his, taking her gaze away from the disloyal animal.

The re-arrival of footsteps in the hall made her chest collapse with relief. The happiness she felt at seeing Luc round the corner was so far unmatched in her life. He could read the pleas in her eyes and he remained standing, in front of where he originally sat.

The colonel had turned his attention to the soldier. The other soldier had come back, as well. All three spoke. She couldn't tell whether or not the colonel was pleased. Hell, she didn't care if he was pleased or not. She was finished. They just needed to leave. Now.

After a few final words, the soldiers exited the house. The room felt lighter already.

"Well," he looked straight at Luc and then at Évelyne, "it seems the alacrity of my men is to be commended. Our business is finished here." He rose, meticulously screwing the cap back onto his pen and putting the papers away before picking up his leather case. Collecting his hat and placing it on his head, he resumed speaking, "Thank you for your cooperation today. Your compliance has been much appreciated. I wish you good day and will be out of your hair now as promised."

He held his gloves in the same hand as his leather case. With his other hand, he reached for Évelyne's, which she drew back involuntarily with a look of flight in her eyes. She hadn't meant to. Even though this man scared and infuriated her, she hadn't meant to show it so clearly. Évelyne was unsure of what to do and watched as the immaculate colonel's face responded in slight surprise, brow raised. He was clearly amused and instead of saying anything else, he took her hand and placed a kiss on it.

"_Merci_ for your delicious tea and hospitality, mademoiselle Léon. I hope we may meet again in the future." When he let go of her hand, she pulled it back gingerly into a fist near her waist. She was going to need to wash this hand with boiling water to get the slimy feeling off.

And with that, placing his hat on his head, he left. The harsh engines rumbled and then faded away down the road.

"Finally, they're gone, Évelyne. It's over now."

She smiled at Luc weakly before her gaze traveled past him. They had left Papa's study wide open. That was one of Papa's pet peeves. She crossed the foyer and closed it. Luc was behind her and turned her around by the shoulders. His arms wrapped around her soothingly and she sighed against him, the brother she never had.

"It's over now."


	5. Interruption

_**A/N:** Good evening/morning/afternoon! I'm really trying to get better at updating more often, so to make up for my past negligence, this chapter is significantly longer than my previous chapters. As always, feedback is greatly welcomed and is much appreciated. I'd love to hear your opinions (negative/positive) on the plot, characterization, writing style, etc. Whatever it takes to improve my writing and make the story more enjoyable!_

_And a big "thank you" for itsalljustalie for editing this chapter!_

_Enjoy!_

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It took several days for the heavy Nazi presence to leave the house. Évelyne had felt it weigh down upon her arms and legs in a strange way. Guilt didn't play any role in it simply because she wasn't guilty of anything except being a French woman in the countryside. The last time she checked, that wasn't a crime. What was it then?

"It's their whole cause, I'll bet you. It's this whole war that's stressing you out," Luc had suggested. After a bit of thought, Évelyne figured he was right. Some days, she managed to push the war from her mind. It had been going on long enough for this ongoing war to feel – normal. It was easy remembering times before the war, but sometimes they felt unreal. The memories were something far away, almost like a dream or one of those strange Hans Christian Andersen stories.

She placed her dish in the sink, following Luc's lead. Breakfast was over and the sun was still cordoned off by the morning clouds.

"Luc, what do you think Nadine is doing right now? Getting herself in trouble?" She smiled with a small laugh. Lately, along with the thoughts of the ongoing war and the Nazis, etc, she'd spent a lot of time thinking about her sister. What was she doing? What were her thoughts? How was she holding up?

Luc wiped something from his mouth with the back of his sleeve as he looked over at her from the counter. "Nadine?" He chuckled. "Probably having some poor kid around her little finger. _Mon dieu_, you remember that time when she got that whole pack of boys to follow her home and carry her things for her? _That_ was impressive."

They both laughed. Oh "Nadine the flirt." Fortunately, her alluring ways hadn't gotten her into too much trouble. God knew Papa needed more to worry about. Évelyne always made sure to keep an eye out for her. Luc did the same. Not only was he like a silly younger brother to Évelyne, he was like a shielding older brother to Nadine.

"Oh, and that time that one boy- what was his name? Oh yes, Henri! – when he knocked on our door to give Nadine a flower? And then Nadine just closed the door on him? She's so awful sometimes."

"But you laughed!"

"You be quiet." She slapped him on the arm with a towel and he started chasing her, eliciting a squeal of laughter from her as she ran from the kitchen.

They stumbled into the back parlor beyond the dining room, Luc's arms around her waist, tickling her into submission amidst her giggling cries for him to stop. She finally managed to wriggle her way out and scooted backwards on her rear and the palms of her hands, shaking with childish, jittery delight.

The euphoria stayed alive in their breathless smiles and periodic chuckles between them. Luc was on his back on the hardwood floor, looking from the ceiling to her and then back to the ceiling again, his chest rising and falling with each cheery breath. Évelyne sat a foot away from him against the wall, her legs stretched to one side as she recovered herself. She looked at nothing in particular on the opposite wall.

"You know," she said, getting her breath back, "I haven't laughed that hard," she exhaled, then breathed in with a wide smile, "in a long time."

Her eyes flitted down to Luc's face, seeing his equally large grin. He pushed himself up on his elbows and looked over at her gleaming face. He tilted an imaginary hat upwards over his tousled hair. "Glad to be of service, Madame."

They both laughed again and she nudged him playfully with her foot. "Don't mock me, Monsieur, or I will make you move your own bed into the cellar."

"Well, Madame, I'd like to see you try and make me."

Getting up, she kicked him softly. "Don't push it, Monsieur. You know I can take you on." She put her fists up and weakly punched the air. "Let's take this outside."

Luc just laughed and pushed himself up. "Let's take this to town then."

"And get some meat and vegetables while we're there."

He smiled over to her as he snatched his cap off the dining room table. "Exactly. Then let's head to town, Madame."

Le Havre, nestled comfortably on the Northern Coast of France, was a charming town. It stood right where the mouth of the Seine opened its lips to the English Channel. Évelyne looked down at the water entering Le Havre and let a leaf fall from her hands. It fluttered from side to side in jerky sweeps before touching down on the grey-blue surface. She liked to think of the Seine as a vein that somehow connected her to her father in the heart of Paris. She could imagine her father standing on the Pont Alexandre III and looking at the length of the westward flowing river. She liked to think that the water he saw flowing under the bridge would be seen by her in Le Havre before it emptied into the Channel. The Romantic image of her father on the bridge was ridiculous, but it was a comforting image nonetheless.

Luc and Évelyne walked off the street toward the marketplace. Évelyne nodded toward the post office.

"I'll check the post."

"Ok, I'll meet you at _la boucherie._" With a quick parting gesture, Luc made his way to the butcher shop.

The post office was small, but almost always busy. It was owned by Bertrand Benoit, a veteran of the first World War. He was made feeble by a war wound in his leg that gave him a slight limp and forced him to carry a cane with him everywhere he went. Bertrand knew Évelyne's father and never failed to ask her how he was whenever he saw her.

"_Bonjour_, Évelyne!" It wasn't Bertrand but his cousin who, despite being a few years older than Évelyne, was often childish in his disposition. She waved back with a smile. She had noticed – actually, Luc had made this observation the second time they had come in here – that Lambert was unusually "nice" around her. Whenever she entered, with or without Luc, Lambert made sure to quickly finish up whatever he was doing and devote his attention to her. "Devote" was an apt verb; one time, he ignored his line of customers to talk to her until she reminded him of them. He was a pleasant enough man, but a little absent-minded and surprisingly prone to anger at the oddest times.

"Good morning, Lambert. Is M. Bertrand out?"

"_Oui_, Évelyne, he's out of town all week. He'll be back by Monday – but you're here for your mail."

Lambert suddenly straightened and went to the back room without another word. Évelyne smiled and stood behind the counter. There were only two other clients aside from herself. One was disinterestedly flipping through his mail. The other was talking to another clerk, David, about sending a package to a sick friend. Apparently, there was an issue of cost and expediency. Lambert returned with a letter in hand.

"Only one letter this time, Lambert?" She asked with a smile that felt a little too forced across her jaw. He looked down at the one letter and frowned.

"I guess so. You know, if we weren't so close, I'd write to you every day if you wanted." He pressed his chin against his hand, leaning against the counter with her letter in hand. She could see the sender's name: _Nadine Léon. _

Nadine? Évelyne's smile became genuine.

"That's nice, Lambert. Now can I have my letter, please?"

"Oh, yes, of course!" He fumbled and almost dropped the letter before handing it over.

A letter from Nadine - this was fantastic! Évelyne had meant to send her little sister a letter, but had never gotten around to it. She felt a little guilty, even though she knew she was justified in her negligence considering the stress Luc and Évelyne had suffered through. In any case, now that she had a letter from Nadine, the guilt had evaporated. Too excited to wait until she got home, she flipped the thin, crème-colored envelope over and tore it open. She pulled out a folded paper and smiled when she saw the writing.

"What is that? That's not German, is it?" Lambert was not inconspicuous in leaning over the counter and peering over her shoulder. She pursed her lips and then grinned.

"No, Lambert, it's not German. Don't worry." She placed the letter back in the envelope and slipped it into the pocket of her dress. "Bye, Lambert. Give Bertrand my best." Évelyne waved and stepped into the street.

As giddy as she was, she wouldn't tell Luc about the letter. These messages were secret – for her and her sister's eyes only. If she told Luc, he'd do what he did best and pester her to death until she told him what it was about. Even if she did show him the letter, he wouldn't be able to make heads or tails of it.

The scent of the butcher shop hit her before the sight. The smell wasn't awful, but it was enough to make Évelyne's nose involuntarily crinkle. The candles that were set up near the door did next to nothing to hide the carrion scent.

Luc was at the counter. The clerk, Sebastian, was wrapping up a large side of beef for him. When Luc saw her, he waved her over.

"Any mail?"

She shook her head. "Nope. Nothing."

Luc squinted his eyes in mock suspicion and leaned toward her. "Really?"

"Really."

"Would you swear on it?"

"Luc, you're unbelievable."

Sebastian smiled discretely as he handed the wrapped meat over to Luc.

"Hey, Bastian. Do you think I'm 'unbelievable'?"

"Well, I don't think _I_ could ever believe you," he said with that throaty voice of his.

"What? _Hé_, whose side are you on?"

Sebastian shrugged and they all laughed. Luc and Évelyne left the shop and sauntered their way over to the produce stands, shoving each other playfully along the way.

"_Bonjour,_ Mme. Depaul," Luc smiled widely over at the elderly, but still very sharp-minded woman. He was trying to "charm" her. Everyone knew that if you pleased Mme. Depaul, she was much easier to negotiate with – well, some of the time.

"_Bonjour, _Luc. _Bonjour,_ Évelyne." Her demeanor seemed less energetic today. The wariness in her face peeked through the lines around the old eyes and the pale skin along the sides of her mouth. Évelyne was slightly confused, but said nothing. Luc carried on.

"Well, I must say, you are looking younger every day – like Mireille Balin's twin! Évelyne, does she or does she not look like the glamorous Mireille?"

The stoicism in Mme. Depaul's face departed for a moment as she smiled at Luc's ridiculousness. "Luc Adelard, if you don't wipe that grin off your face, I'm going to come around and wipe it off myself."

Luc laughed and held his hands up defensively. "I only speak the truth, madame. Anyways, we're here for some greens. The usual, _s'il vous plaît._"

Mme. Depaul nodded and grabbed "the usual": lettuce, cabbage, carrots, potatoes, tomatoes, and onions, along with several fresh fruits on the stand.

When she had finished she hobbled around the stand and handed the several bags of groceries to Évelyne. As Évelyne grabbed them, Mme. Depaul snatched her wrist and pulled her forward. For a moment, Évelyne panicked. What was Mme. Depaul doing? Had she finally lost her mind? The look in the woman's eyes shifted from desperate fierceness to a more startling softness.

Mme. Depaul finally spoke, pulling the bags and Évelyne closer to her. Luc leaned in, too. "What did they want?"

Évelyne searched the grey eyes bewilderedly. "What? Who?"

Mme. Depaul paused and tightened her grip on the bags, pulling Évelyne an inch closer. "The soldiers." Her breath halted before finishing, "The Jew Hunter."

Évelyne's eyes widened and she blinked quickly. Had Le Havre already digested this piece of news? Was Évelyne and Luc's small ordeal already a part of the town gossip ring? News traveled fast in Le Havre. Of course it traveled fast. The soldiers had most likely stopped in town before making its way into the countryside, into their house. It was natural that people had already started talking. They wanted to know about the soldiers – specifically the colonel. She almost flinched at the memory of him.

"They- they were looking for- " Évelyne lowered her voice automatically, "the Bassets."

Luc interjected. "We didn't tell them anything. We don't know anything."

Mme. Depaul looked from Évelyne to Luc back to Évelyne and finally nodded. She pulled away and let go of Évelyne and the bags.

"Have a good day. Stay out of trouble."

Évelyne didn't like Depaul's tone. The dry, steely voice seemed to suggest that trouble was inevitable – as if it was just around the corner.

"We will, Mme. Depaul. Thank you, as always." They paid the woman and left. Without even turning around, Évelyne knew the old woman stared after them until they were out of sight.

* * *

"That was strange," Évelyne said as they headed home. The rattling from the car kept her awake as she stared at the passing fields of grain and grass.

"Yep. It was. She was just concerned, that's all. I bet everyone we passed today was curious." He glanced down and muttered something about fixing up the car before he looked back up at the straight stretch of road. The two of them had spent the better part of the day in town. The sun was already beginning to dip behind the trees.

"I hadn't even thought about it before today."

"Eh, I tried not to think about it. I mean, of course everybody already knew. It's a fact of life in this town: 'your business is our business.'" He let out a laugh through his nose. "What _don't_ they know?"

Évelyne smiled and looked at Luc. How did he do it? How could he stay so optimistic all the time? Well, not all the time. He wasn't so happy the day the Germans had come around: _"I didn't like the look of that one – the Colonel. He has 'slimy' written all over him," _he had said.

Yes, the Colonel. She hadn't liked it either. The fresh memory of their encounter created a taut, unnatural feeling in her stomach. It was that look of his – that look that didn't look at her, but _into_ her. It made her feel vulnerable and just – naked. She turned back toward the window, leaning her head against the frame of the door.

"Well, they're gone. That's all that matters."

* * *

Évelyne sat down in her father's chair in his study and flattened the letter across the desk. After putting the food away, Luc had gone out to play handyman on the car, leaving her alone inside. She could see him from where she sat. He was crouching down and inspecting something beneath the car. She had time.

She turned on the desk lamp and examined her sister's writing with a furtive smile. It was a secret that they had shared for a long time – a simple code Évelyne had taken from an old spy novel. Neither of them needed a key to refer to at this point; they both knew it by heart. So the random letters on the page were just that to the casual eye – silly gibberish. Even if Luc got ahold of this or any of their past correspondences, he would only scratch his head and give Évelyne a funny look. And then he would irritate the truth out of her. She had to make this fast.

The deciphered letter read:

_Dear Évelyne,_

_Things have been busy around here. Aunt and Uncle are big about the war cause. They keep me occupied with sewing and cleaning and feeding the horses and helping around the house. It's tiring. And boring. I miss home, but I guess it's good here. Do you remember the old barn we used to play in? Well, I'm not even allowed in there anymore. I don't know why. Sometimes, Uncle goes out late at night and I think he goes out to the barn. It's not secretive because he tells Aunt Julie about it, but he doesn't say much about it. I have a few theories: he's building some kind of secret contraption; or he's hiding dead bodies; or he's holding conspiracy meetings… Oh Uncle would kill me if he even knew about these, even if I am joking a little. One time, I worked up the courage to ask him about it, but he gave me the "look" – you remember that, right? – of his and told me it wasn't any of my business, so I just shut up about it._

_Aunt and Uncle host a lot of dinners for lots of people, so there's a lot of work setting things up and then taking them down again. When I'm out of the room, I hear them talking about politics and family and boring stuff. You know, they also talk a lot about the war and specifically about the Germans. Good thing there aren't many soldiers around here or else Uncle and his friends would be taken away for sure. Really, the things they say; I'm afraid to even repeat them here in code!_

_Oh! Has Papa written to you yet? We received a letter from him earlier this week and I don't know what he's told you, but he said he's okay and he misses us. _

_So how are things on your end? You're probably doing a whole lot better than we are. Things here aren't as pretty as they are in Le Havre. The horses in the barn – the newer barn – smell. It gets really awful in the afternoon when it's really hot and the sun bakes the manure. _

_Well, say 'hi' to Luc for me, ma __sœur__! And I hope to see you soon!_

_Á __bientôt__,_

_Nadine_

Évelyne smiled as she read and stroked her thumb against the edge of the paper. Hearing from her baby sister had a curative effect on her mood, erasing any ill feelings that had accumulated the past few days. It was like having a taste of home and the old life. Nadine was quite a character. She was probably creating a lot of trouble for their aunt and uncle.

However, the end of the letter disturbed her, particularly Nadine's question: _"So how are things on your end?"_

Could Évelyne put down in words what had happened? Even as she thought of it now, she didn't know where she would start. Should she even tell Nadine about the Germans searching the house? Perhaps it wasn't the best idea. It would only worry Nadine and their aunt and uncle. She didn't need them feeling obligated to reach out and help.

She tucked the letter into the top drawer of the desk and rose from the seat. She would write back later, when her thoughts weren't in a haze. The outside air would help ease her mind.

Exiting through the back of the house, Évelyne stepped barefoot through the grass. The ground was cold and scuffed the soft bottoms of her feet. A few times she stepped on an extra sharp rock and winced away, but she continued on toward the forest. The horizon was a deep, creamy orange without the fluff of clouds blocking the sun's descent. The grass tickled her calves and occasionally poked the inside of her knees beneath her dress. Évelyne stopped at the edge of the trees and the underbrush and sat down, feeling the dry, gritty dirt against her palms and fingertips. She curled her fingers inward to gather the natural debris beneath her hands and then relaxed them with a sigh. Her knees were up toward her chest and she leaned back sleepily until her back met the ground. She closed her eyes.

It smelled like leaves and bark and dampness. There was something else, but she couldn't place it and she didn't really care to. She wished she could capture this assortment of scents and sounds and touches and scoop it into a jar. She wished she could gather it all up in once simple sweep of her hand and seal it with a tin lid and keep it on her nightstand. When times got tough and when the weight of the world seemed to press down on her, she could get the jar, open the lid, and have this feeling again.

A soft rustle to her side eased its way into her consciousness.

"Good evening, Taquin," she said without opening her eyes or turning her head, "how was your day?" The sound of movement stopped and she simply smiled. Usually, he'd answer with a purr or a mew or he'd immediately leap onto her chest.

"Not very social, are we today, hm?" She chuckled and rested her hands on her stomach with a deep breath. Taquin put a paw on her shoulder. When she made to push it away, she gasped. It was not fur she touched, but _skin_.

Her eyes shot open and her head jerked over to the side. She jolted up in a seated position and leaned away defensively, prepared to scramble away.

It was a girl – a little girl no more than 10. She stood in a worn, rag-like dress with a torn hem and a sloppy blue patch near the waist. Long, blonde hair hung messily in front of her shoulders, roughly framing a soft, sweaty face. Two blue fearful eyes looked back at her.

"Who are you?" Évelyne remained still, although her chest was heaving from the shock.

"_Ma maman_ is sick. She needs water and food. We don't have anymore. We need your help. Please. _Ma maman_ is sick."

Évelyne was speechless. Her mind raced to make sense of this. The pale blue eyes seemed to pull her up. She pushed herself to her feet.

"Where is your mother?"

The girl pointed into the forest and Évelyne's breath hitched. The trees breathed in and exhaled with a silent sigh, blowing its hot, earthy breath against her face. Branches crackled, manipulated by shadows to look like beckoning fingers. Over ten years ago, she had lost herself in the forest and was rescued by her father. Now, Papa was in Paris and she was here all by herself – almost.

"Wait, I'll get help." Évelyne made for the front side of the house, but she was stopped by a small hand on her arm.

"No! Don't tell anyone. You can't tell anyone. Please, this has to be a secret."

Évelyne searched the wide blue eyes and placed a hand on the girl's. "Trust me."

She turned and shouted, "Luc!" and then turned back to the girl. "What is your name?"

The girl shook her head fiercely.

Évelyne nodded hesitantly and turned in earnest. Luc finally rounded the corner.

"Hurry!" She gestured to him quickly and he started running toward her, a question in his eyes.

"Who's this?"

"Her mother is sick and apparently they live in— somewhere in there." She pointed into the trees. "She needs help."

Luc still looked confused, but he nodded in compliance. He turned to the girl, who looked like she was ready to bolt. "Where's your mother?"

The girl shrank back, her eyes switching from Luc's to Évelyne's. Finally, she pressed her lips together with decision and led the way.

Évelyne touched Luc on the arm. "When you get back, take her to the main parlor. I'll be ready in there." Luc nodded and disappeared behind the girl.

Without wasting a second, Évelyne made her way back to the house. She set water to boil on the stove, pushed the coffee table to one side of the room, collected blankets and washcloths, and set up a bowl of water and a pitcher beside the couch. Her body acted automatically, as if a switch clicked inside her, activating an emergency response mechanism. It was odd, but she tried to let her arms and legs do the thinking instead of her head this time.

The hands of the grandfather clock in the dining room seemed to lag, as if the gears had suddenly caught up to their age. The heavy swing of the pendulum was the only movement in the room as Évelyne sat impatiently, waiting for Luc and whatever – whoever – else he was bringing. Fear and worry streamed through her: Was Luc all right? Was the girl all right? Who was this girl and how did she come to be here? What if this was a setup?

The last question seemed to be the most ridiculous, but the most pressing one in her mind. The little girl appeared too randomly to make any sense to Évelyne. It was as if she came out of thin air like an apparition. Perhaps she was an apparition, something Évelyne had dreamed of while she was lying in peace on the ground. As the seconds passed, the situation became more and more bizarre in her muddled brain.

What if the girl had made up the story of the sick mother? If that was true, then Luc was in danger.

Luc was in danger – and Évelyne had put him in danger! Oh! She had refused to go in the forest herself and had sent him along instead. _Oh Luc! Please come back. Please come back from wherever the girl took you. Don't be dead. Don't be dead. If you die – I – I don't know what I would do. I would just- I-_

The back door slammed open and Évelyne shot up from her chair. Luc passed the dining room carrying a thin, haggard figure across his arms down the hall. He was immediately followed by the little blue-eyed girl. Évelyne rushed to follow them.

"Set her on the couch – the long one. The blankets are right there. Here, let me."

As soon as he laid the woman down on the couch, Évelyne knelt down beside her. The woman was quaking uncontrollably.

"Madame? Madame, can you hear me?"

The woman nodded weakly.

Luc adjusted the sickly woman's body to fit more comfortably on the couch. "She's weak and has a serious fever and look – she's shivering."

The little girl chimed in. "_Maman_ told me it was nothing and she wouldn't get help."

Évelyne nodded and tried to smile reassuringly. "It's going to be all right. We're going to help your mother. Here, you can sit here." She led the girl to the other couch and patted her on the arm before returning to the woman. Luc was folding a wet cloth and laying it on her forehead. Évelyne poured the pitcher of lukewarm water into a glass and gently tilted it against the woman's lips. Old questions met new questions as she and Luc covered the woman with a blanket and propped her head up with a pillow.

Every minute or so, Évelyne looked back at the girl. She sat so silently, but her face said enough. The dirt and the bags under the eyes told a story of anxiety and fear and of innocence that was hanging by a thread. A small light dawned on her mind each time she looked at the girl and the mother. Every time she looked at the girl, Évelyne would look at Luc and he would look back at her in the same way, so she knew he knew, as well.

The mother's shivering had lessened and Luc put on a fresher, colder towel on her forehead. Évelyne slid a blanket over the little girl, who had fallen asleep on the couch. She could tell it was a heavy sleep by the way the girl breathed so deeply. She had watched the girl's eyes droop and her arms give way to her weight and her head fall every so often. She had watched her surrender to the heaviness and slump against the arm of the couch so peacefully.

Évelyne turned and looked at Luc. He nodded in the direction of the kitchen and she followed. They sat exhausted at the dining room table. Only their breathing said anything for the first few moments.

Finally, Évelyne spoke. "I didn't recognize either of them until you put the towel on her head."

Luc nodded. "I didn't even get a good look at her until I put her down." He paused and furrowed his brow. "_Mon dieu,_ what have they been through? She looks so different."

Évelyne sighed and put her face in her hands. It was her turn to nod. "So does Eulalie. Luc, what are we going to do?"

"I don't know yet, Évelyne. I don't know."

Neither of them spoke for the rest of the night.


	6. Conflicted Feelings

**_A/N:_**_ A new chapter - finally! So much has happened these past few months, such as graduating high school, preparing for college, etc. Very exciting stuff. _

_This chapter is a slight change of pace from previous chapters. Any constructive feedback, as always, is very much encouraged and appreciated. _

_Thanks to itsalljustalie for editing._

* * *

Évelyne gripped the damp towel in her hand as she leaned against the door frame. The view was vast, bronze and ghostlike, almost like any other summer morning. The quiet rustling, the chirping, the secretive creaking of the floorboards – the day almost felt _normal._ It was a comfort to imagine that this morning was ordinary. It was a comfort to forget that it was anything but that. She heard a door open and softly close, followed by careful footsteps overhead.

What were they going to do? The options were few and bleak. The pros and cons weighed heavily on each side. She could hear the footsteps reach the bottom of the stairs.

Every few seconds, a drop of water fell from Évelyne's towel and was swallowed into the brown fabric of her dress, leaving only a small dark mark as evidence of its short existence. She would shift her leg and brush against the damp fabric, making herself shiver each time. Her head was light and empty. The vacancy in her eyes revealed just this. The previous night played in her mind lazily and she was barely conscious of it. Lack of sleep did this to her. She wasn't even sure if what she was remembering was a dream or if it was reality, but every time her knee brushed against the dampness, she had a moment of clarity. She remembered making the beds in one of the guest bedrooms, unfolding the sheets and covers and dusting off the bedframe. She remembered following Luc with the bowl and pitcher of cool water as he carried Mme. Basset to the bed. Évelyne had held Eulalie to her chest and rested the small chin on her shoulder as they made their way upstairs. She had covered the sleeping girl with a blanket before making her way over to care for the mother.

Luc tapped her on the shoulder and she turned around. He was just as tired as she was. His shirt was messily tucked in his pants and he had missed a button. The dark circles under his eyes and his frazzled hair probably mirrored her own exhausted appearance. She hadn't seen herself yet and frankly, she didn't want to.

"They're still sleeping. You should probably get some rest, too." Luc yawned and Évelyne smiled weakly.

"You know, no matter how many times you tell me to go to sleep, I'm not going to sleep."

Luc laughed and stretched his arms up. He looked like Taquin upon waking. "Hm, I know. It's worth a try, though."

Évelyne yawned, too, and leaned her head against the door frame again. "I've been thinking."

"Uh oh."

"Oh, be quiet. I've been thinking about them – about what we're doing." Évelyne glanced past Luc to the hallway.

"Do you realize what we've done?" Luc nodded and looked down at his shoes, furrowing his brows. Évelyne continued. "To think that if this had happened just a few days ago, I- I- "

She couldn't finish her sentence. She didn't need to. They both knew what would have happened.

The two of them looked out of the door without speaking, letting the natural sounds outside gently soften the silence. The air was delicate. Évelyne didn't dare disturb it and only waited for Luc to speak.

"We have a choice."

Évelyne turned her head. Yes, they had a choice. That was part of what bothered her so much. She could choose to let them stay or she could force them away. Neither decision was without consequence. Both tugged on opposite sides of her conscience. To hide them would mean risking discovery. The consequences would be brutal - jail, interrogation, torture? Could it mean death? Her father even wouldn't be able to save her. To the Germans, the daughter of a judge was as fair game as everyone else.

But could she turn them out? The thought was as unspeakable as the torture of being discovered. She couldn't let mother and daughter, sickly and starved, return to the semblance of a life they must have lived under the cold shelter of trees and shrubbery. The human heart couldn't allow that. Then again, the human heart was no stranger to committing cruelty. They were, after all, in the midst of a war.

"We have to let them stay," Évelyne's voice was quiet, but unfaltering.

"Stay here? Maybe for a short time, but we can't let them stay here- " Luc seemed suddenly aware of the company sleeping upstairs and lowered his voice. "They can't stay here forever. There must be somewhere they can go."

Évelyne fully faced him now. She clenched the towel tighter in her hand.

"Where, Luc? The Germans are all over the place, but we're rarely disturbed out here."

"Those soldiers came just under a week ago! Who knows when they'll be back?"

"They won't be back. They've already checked this area. In their minds, the Bassets are long gone by now."

Luc shook his head and pressed his lips together. Évelyne couldn't believe what she was hearing from Luc. She had expected him to be hesitant about the idea, but she had thought he would support her decision.

"Luc, we aren't monsters, all right? We aren't _them._" She didn't need to clarify who. "Eulalie and Mme. Basset are staying."

The tension had quickly filled the air, removing the residual peace and silence. The two of them stood face to face, one looking down, the other looking up. Physical height didn't factor into this. The more Évelyne spoke, the stronger she felt about her decision. The gap of uncertainty was closing. It was now only a matter of making sure she had a partner in this – that she would not be alone. Luc had been her friend for most of her life. They knew each other better than anyone. Father didn't know about the time Évelyne broke a window while throwing rocks at a cat when she was ten. Father didn't know that 12 year old Luc had once stolen an apple from the market for 15 year old Évelyne. And to this day, not even Nadine knew where the entrance to the "Exclusive Friends Fort" was. Only Évelyne and Luc knew it was in the basement behind the crates of Father's old things, hidden by a nondescript beige tarp.

"We'll see how it goes," Luc said finally.

His face was grave and his jaw was tight. Évelyne hated seeing him like that, but she couldn't let him change her mind. After scanning his features for a moment longer, she brushed past him and dropped her towel in the kitchen sink. She absently wiped her hand across the wood counter as if trying to give it a quick cleaning. Then she settled both hands against the counter, blindly looking down at the dark erratic pattern of the timber. She thought back to the warmth of Eulalie's skinny body against her as she had carried her to the guest room. The quiet, deep breathing seemed to tickle Évelyne's ear even now, standing in the kitchen, feeling alone and betrayed.

Luc's footsteps shifted and came in her direction, but she turned and made her way down the hall. She couldn't talk to him – not now, at least. She needed to calm herself, to clear her head. The fatigue was edging into her body, pulling down her shoulders and her head. She needed to sleep.

"I'm going to bed." She pulled herself up into her room and fell asleep without even changing her clothes.

* * *

A hand closed around hers. Évelyne opened her eyes and followed hesitantly into a well-lit room. There was such command in the grip, but the skin was soothing and warm. Her eyes traveled up the arm, scanning above the shoulder to a head that was turned away. The figure was unmistakably male, from the square uniform to the strong, masculine shape beneath that uniform. The smell, too, was strangely masculine. She walked with the man, her feet suddenly making a clacking sound. Looking down, she saw that she was wearing black high heels. Not only that, she was wearing a dress, also black.

Évelyne did not question. She did not speak. She only followed until the man stopped in the middle of the floor. The room was bright, but otherwise empty. No paintings, windows or any furniture occupied any space. As Évelyne scanned the room, the music started. The crescendo of strings came from no place in particular – not from the walls, the ground or the ceiling. It simply surrounded her and the man. As soon as the crescendo fell into melody, she was pulled in. Her left hand shot to the man's hand. Her right fell on his shoulder. They danced. It had been a long time since she had danced. The melody was a waltz, a tune that she wasn't familiar with.

Even though they were face to face, Évelyne couldn't make out the features of the man's head. Still, she didn't say anything. She only followed, letting her feet glide along the ground. They no longer made their fashionable clicking sounds against the floor. Perhaps they were being drowned out by the music. Perhaps it simply wasn't an important detail. What did matter, though, was the uniform the man was wearing.

Were those medals there before? She couldn't remember seeing them before. A linear gleam of metallic colors; a gold, circular pin; an iron cross hanging self-importantly beside it – they all stood out to her now in this moment, when they had kept themselves discreet and hidden before. The black austere patches on the shoulders with the gilded braided pattern that had some significance also made their presence known. Évelyne's step faltered and she fell into the man.

The touch of his hand holding her up was no longer inviting; it was familiar. The uniform, the shape, and the sudden unwelcome contact sparked recognition. Her breathing quickened, her limbs began to shiver. She was afraid to look up, but she had to. She had to see the face.

And there it was, the face, deceivingly smooth and warm, and less austere than she had imagined. That face looked down at her with those eyes, the most unnerving features on that face with the false crinkles in the corners. They almost had a kindness in the irises, but Évelyne knew it was far from kindness. The colonel smiled down at her. His face was so close, she could see every detail that she had missed before, which terrified her even more. He drew her head close and brushed his lips against her hear. She quivered, but didn't move away. She didn't know if she could, but for some reason hidden beneath the stubborn sinews in her arms and legs, she simply didn't move.

The hot, moist breath made her ear tingle and her spine tremble.

"I have found you, Évelyne Marie Léon."

She gasped and screamed in silence.

* * *

Évelyne woke up, the slow vigor of consciousness climbing back into her body as she stared blankly at the cobwebbed ceiling. She breathed deeply once, twice, and a third time as her mind caught up to her awakened state. The dream was already fading into blurred shapes and confused actions. She blinked it away and turned to see the clock on the bedside table: 3 o' clock. Afternoon or morning? Évelyne pushed herself into an upright position, blinking quickly as the blood struggled to make its way back up into her head. This was why she never took naps. The disruption altered time, transforming night into day and day into night. She never felt right when she woke up from a nap. It felt like morning, but it couldn't be – could it?

Sliding out of bed, she stretched and looked down at herself. _Évelyne Léon, you are in need of a bath._ Luc flitted into her mind and she easily waved him away. She wasn't angry at him quite as much, but it would depend on how they'd greet each other when she went downstairs. Was he still frustrated with her? She hated fighting with him. It was one thing to tease and playfully argue. It was another thing entirely to disagree and put each other out of sorts. They hadn't fought like this in a long time, but it wasn't there worst fight. Évelyne drew the bath and slipped out of her dress, flinging it into the hamper in the corner of her room. There was that one ordeal when she had just come back from an outing with that Gaspard boy. He was so handsome with nicely parted brown hair and eyes that were even browner and all the more soft. He had taken her out to lunch at a cheap bistro, which was a nice change in palate from the toasted brie, dainty vinaigrette-covered salads and the like.

After giving Gaspard a kiss on the cheek at the door and saying goodbye, she ran into Luc at the end of the hall upstairs. He had just come out and he had a strange look on his face. Even now, the look puzzled Évelyne. She slipped into the bath, smiling at the liquid warmth.

_Who was that?_

Gaspard. You know him.

_Oh. Him? Ew. _

What? What's wrong with Gaspard?

_He's- he's kind of a jerk, isn't he?_

Luc- No, he's not a jerk. What's wrong with you? He just bought me lunch.

_You have to be careful, Ev._

Don't call me "Ev." And back off. I need to change.

_Well, _Ev,_ if you weren't such a moron you'd know that Gaspard is a spineless bastard._

He is _not_ a bastard, Luc. You are!

_I am not! You're an idiot! You're blind!_

Go away. You're so stupid.

There fights were always short, but what they lacked in duration, they made up for in intensity. Despite the foul taste of the memory, Évelyne couldn't help smiling at the childishness of that teenage altercation. And because she was alone, she couldn't help chuckling at the fact that Luc had been right – somewhat right. Gaspard was a "jerk," having tried to reach under her skirt after the third date. Évelyne had slapped him and had stormed off. Fortunately, Gaspard hadn't followed her. The boy had looked more ashamed than angry. Even then, Évelyne never went out with him again nor did she ever mention him after that. She had never told Luc that he'd been right.

The bath water was already beginning to cool and Évelyne shivered. Closing her eyes and letting her head loll to the side, she let the residual images of her dream replay in her mind. Dancing – it involved dancing. There was lofty, classical music playing. She was dancing. Was she alone? Yes. No. She had a partner. Who?

Évelyne scrunched her nose and shook her head, stepping out of the bath. The music played abstractly in her mind as she dried herself off, sliding the towel up one leg and then the other. She began to hum what may or may not have been the tune. 1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3… Who was her partner? The dance was nice; it was pleasant. When the war was over, she could go dancing again. She missed the upbeat music and the infectious happiness in the room, the laughter, the senseless gossip, and the flattering men.

She sighed. There was no use wishing for things in the past. Maybe the music and the laughter and the happiness would be different after the war was over. What if France lost? Then where would the happiness be? Life would never be the same. Life already wasn't the same. She put on a new dress and let her dark hair fall over her shoulders. She brushed a lock from her eyes and pushed it behind her ear.

A strange sensation made the hairs on the back of her neck stand when her fingers touched the top of her ear. She couldn't place the feeling, but whatever it was, she didn't like it. Subconsciously, she felt her ear gently, covering it and then closing her eyes. There was a memory tiptoeing around her head, but she couldn't quite grasp it. How irritating. No matter how hard she tried to remember, nothing came to it. It was as if the thought were teasing her, holding itself just beyond her reach. The harder she tried to get at it, the farther it went.

Slightly exasperated by that small mental effort, she walked into the hall. Whatever it was, it would come to her later.

As she made her way downstairs, she peered into the guest room. Évelyne winced when the door creaked upon opening. Fortunately, Mme. Basset was still asleep in her bed. The woman finally looked at peace. She deserved it, the poor woman – her and her child. Speaking of – where was Eulalie? Évelyne looked around the room. The makeshift cot beside the bed was empty. The girl was nowhere in sight. This created a small panic in Évelyne. She had to know where both of them were at all times if this was going to work.

After closing the door quickly and quietly, she went downstairs. There was no one in the living room and no one in the study. Where was she?

"Eulalie?" Évelyne called out. No one answered. She peaked nervously through the curtains of the window facing the road.

A giggle was the only reply.

Her heart skipped. "Eulalie? Is that you?"

There were low voices – two voices. Évelyne walked slowly down the hall, following the furtive noises. A mewl was thrown into the mix. Then there was a squeal, making Évelyne jump. It took her mind a moment to register it not as alarm, but laughter. Rounding the corner, she saw why.

Luc was sitting on a chair that was pushed back a few feet from the dining table. He was bent down and petting Taquin's long, thin, stretched out body under the table. Eulalie was on her knees and tickling the cat's black paws, laughing delightedly every time the cat tried to bat at her. Relief washed over Évelyne like her warm bath. The initial irrational fears and imagined horrors drained out and she smiled at the charming scene.

Évelyne spoke up. "You like Taquin? I think he likes you, too."

Eulalie turned, still smiling and nodded happily. She then returned her attention to the attention-spoiled cat and made chittering noises as she resumed teasing him. Luc raised his head. What was he going to do? Would he be civil? Was he angry? What? If only there was such a thing as mindreading. It would be invaluable for moments like these, when friendships hung in the balance.

He smiled at her. The expression was genuine. She knew it was genuine because there was no way he could fake a smile like that. She wasn't so arrogant to say that the smile was an apologetic smile because Évelyne knew how crazy her decision was. It was nevertheless a necessary one. They would discuss it later. For now, Évelyne wanted to embrace the lightness in the room. The sound of Eulalie's bubbly peals of laughter emptied Évelyne's mind.

She strode over, pulling out a chair from under the table and sitting herself down in complete relaxation. There was nothing to worry about. Luc was happy. Eulalie was happy. Mme. Basset's health was already improving since the night before. Évelyne hadn't felt this content in a long time.

Everything was going to work out perfectly.


End file.
